


Wrap Us Up

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Good Boyfriend Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Bucky gets hurt and Clint has to keep him safe and warm. That's hard when Bucky's the one who's been keeping Clint warm the past months. Clint thought he was done being cold.





	1. Chapter 1

“Here’s what I think,” Bucky slurred, and Clint reminded himself that Bucky had the serum, that Bucky had survived worse than whatever this explosion had hurled at his head and through his leg, too fast for even his startling reflexes. It was chunks of an old, dilapidated office building, as it turned out.

Bucky didn’t finish the sentence, just burrowed a bit more in Clint’s arms and sucked in a shuddering breath. Clint used his own soot and dirt-stained hands to wipe a little more blood out of Bucky’s eyes. He tapped his comm again. “Cap, come on. You’ve got our location. I know he’s got the serum, but this is bad.” There was too much blood from too many places, seeping through the shirt Clint had already stripped off and tied around the leg, dripping steadily from the cut on his forehead. There was enough that Clint could smell the damp, reddening fabric, a smoky metal mixing with the sweat on the shirt he used. He wiped more blood from Bucky’s face and looked around at the pile of rubble they were sitting in.

The problem with two-man scouting missions? If they go south, you’ve got a wait.

“We’re coming, Clint,” Steve answered. “Keep him warm, okay? The docs say that shock is his biggest problem.”

Clint stifled a growl. “I don’t have anything.” He brushed more blood away from Bucky’s eyes and pallid, clammy skin. “Steve. I don’t have anything. This was supposed to be a watch-only. You know that.” 

Bucky coughed wetly and clenched his eyes shut, and didn’t manage to stifle a whine. It pierced Clint’s chest and he pulled in his own shaky breath.

“You have kits. You both have kits, Clint.” Now Steve’s voice sounded desperate. Scared. It snapped Clint back to reality. He could do this. He had to. He was trained. Get Bucky warm. Keep him awake.

“Kits are back at the tent, but I’ll figure it out. I’m out for now. I’ll keep him safe, but _get here, dammit.”_

Clint took a second to let his worry rear up and then pressed it back down before he laid Bucky out flat on the ground. He’d dragged him into his lap when he found him crumpled, lying still on the ground after the explosion.  God, this was a mess. He stripped off his field jacket and pushed it under and around Bucky’s shoulders, and he couldn’t help but press a kiss onto Bucky’s cooling lips. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

The building was on fire. Fire was warm. Clint sprinted to where the biggest flames were and took a deep breath. He moved in and looked around, but dammit, this wouldn’t work. There was nothing to pull, nothing to grab, just fire and concrete. He looked around for another minute for something to take back to Bucky, but it was too big or too cumbersome or too likely to go out before he got it close enough. Right. Moving Bucky to the flame it would have to be.

Clint ran back over and kneeled behind him and reached under his arms. “This is gonna hurt, Buck, but we gotta get you warm. Okay?”

 Bucky blinked, muttering something Clint couldn’t make out. Clint stood, pulling Bucky up, and he ignored the groan he heard. Fuck, Bucky was heavy. Clint dragged him – he really was too heavy to carry – and ignored the sharp pain in his own right leg.  He limped until he could feel the heat from the fire through his own vest, and laid Bucky down gently.  He brushed more blood off of Bucky’s pale, clammy face, and tightened the makeshift tourniquet.

“Here’s what I think,” Bucky started again. Clint was glad he managed to hold Bucky’s gaze for more than a few seconds before Bucky’s eyes slid away unfocused, his sentence still unfinished.

“I think you’re gettin’ sloppy, old man,” Clint said, and he squeezed Bucky’s hand, tried to get his eyes back on Clint. “Caught in a building explosion like a rookie.”

What Clint really thought was that Bucky _couldn’t_ be cold. He was trying to hold on, as he watched blood drain from Bucky’s body and focus slip from his eyes, to the idea that had been keeping Clint warm for a couple of months now, a kind of warm he couldn’t remember feeling since _before_.  

Clint had been cold ever since Loki, standing on the edges of rooms, trying not to pay too much attention to anyone, wrapping himself in sweatshirts and blankets and turning up his apartment heat to almost unbearable temperatures. Bucky joked when they’d only met a couple of times that Clint was a caterpillar instead of a hawk, the way he cocooned himself on the couch every time they watched a movie.

“Fuck off, Barnes,” he’d growled, and burrowed deeper. Steve had rumpled Clint’s hair with a grin, so glad to have Bucky back.

That was the night Clint had fallen asleep mid-movie and woken with a yell when an explosion and monologue by a tall, skinny dude with a thick British accent had woken him, confused and disoriented.

Natasha was gone that night and Bucky was the one sitting closest to Clint, so he yanked off the blankets that were strangling Clint like a snake and held Clint down on the couch while he calmly said, “You’re in Stark’s Tower, it’s Wednesday, I’m Bucky, and you’re safe,” over and over until Clint finally matched his breathing and nodded before collapsing back on the couch.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, but everyone shook their heads.

“We know how it goes,” Steve said, and pulled Bucky to his feet, giving Clint some space.

“How the hell did you know how to do that?” Clint muttered as he wrapped himself back up in the blankets.

Bucky leaned over with a soft smile and the prettiest eyes Clint had ever seen, complete with a gleam. “Steve’s had to do it for me a handful of times since I got here. I’ve been listening.”

Clint blinked. “Okay, thanks,” and it was like a tiny, harmless spark caught in his chest.

He saw Bucky go down in the gym a few days later.

He hadn’t really been paying attention to Bucky since Steve had dragged in home from a hellish situation in Bulgaria about a month after Loki. Having the Winter Soldier turn out to be Steve’s best pal Bucky was weird, sure, but so was every other Tuesday in SHIELD. Clint had looked at Nat and said, “You okay with this?” and she’d nodded yes, so he shrugged and said, “Nice to meet you, Barnes,” and had gone back to his room to get another sweatshirt. He was fucking freezing.

He saw Bucky go down, and watched from a distance as Steve knelt over him talking quietly with a fierce, angry glint in his eyes. Clint had a sudden urge to go shoot everyone ever involved with Bucky’s torture, so he could only imagine how Steve felt. He watched and couldn’t help but look over at Nat, who was often playing Steve’s role for Clint. Her eye was on him, not Bucky and Steve, and he gave her a small smile before leaving the room so that Bucky could recover in some peace.

“Why’re you in here when everyone’s out there? Bucky asked one night as Clint sat drinking a beer on the couch in the common room.

Clint glanced out the window to the deck where Steve, Nat, Sam, and Tony sat around a fire pit, drinking spiked apple cider and laughing at some joke Sam probably told. He took a swig of his beer. “It’s cold outside,” he said, and looked back at the TV, wishing he’d brought a sweatshirt down from his rooms.

He didn’t pay attention, but a few minutes later, Bucky sank down onto the couch next to him and passed over a hoodie that was faded and worn so much that the wrists were frayed.

Bucky bumped Clint’s shoulder with his own, passed it over, and said, “This might warm you up.”

Something warmed Clint up that night, but he wasn’t sure if it was the hoodie.

He invited Bucky down to the range the next day to shoot. He forgot to turn up the thermostat like he usually did.

Bucky ambushed him and made him go for a walk in Central park, and Clint forgot his coat. He didn’t miss it.

The next movie night, Clint sat on the couch next to Bucky instead of wrapped in a blanket on the floor. He didn’t get cold.

When Bucky kissed him it burned like a flame in Clint’s chest, and Bucky turned the Tower into a place where Clint didn’t get cold. He hadn’t touched his sweatshirt drawer in months.

Now he lay down next to Bucky’s prone form on the concrete next to the burning building and tried to add his body heat to the heat Bucky clearly needed. He propped himself up on an elbow, and kept wiping blood from Bucky’s face. He didn’t like how cold Bucky’s skin was, even close to the flames. “Bucky, look at me,” he commanded.

Bucky blinked slowly and closed his eyes again.

“No, Bucky, come on. Look at me.”

This time, Clint managed to hold Bucky’s gaze for a moment, to see the pain in his stormy blue eyes. He pressed his hand to Bucky’s cheek. “Stay awake, Buck. Tell me what you think. I know you got opinions ‘bout this operation. Give ‘em to me.” Clint fought to keep his voice steady, to stay calm.

“Know what I think?” Bucky asked, swallowing hard. His eyelashes fluttered like he was going to shut his eyes again.

Clint ran his hand through Bucky’s hair. “No, what do you think? Come on, Bucky, tell me what you think.”

Bucky blinked. “You always know what I think. ‘S like your superpower.” He trailed off and coughed again with a grimace. “Clint?” he asked, and looked around at the flames.

“What, Buck?”

“Clint, there’s fire. ‘s too hot. Clint.”

Clint shook his head. “It’s okay, Bucky. You need to stay warm. You’ve lost a lot of blood. It’s okay, though. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Where’s Steve?” Bucky asked, and his breathing picked up. He looked around again.

“He’s coming. He’s coming, ok?” The way Bucky was panicking made Clint press closer. He ran his hand down Bucky’s cheek again.

“Where. . . Clint?” Bucky locked eyes with Clint and swallowed again. “Clint, where’s Steve, though? There’s a fire and he’s supposed to - he’s supposed to be here.”

Clint thought of Steve ushering Bucky into the tower, thought of Steve telling stories about the Howling Commandos once Bucky had been settled enough to start talking about the past. Steve should be here. Bucky’s right. “You’re stuck with me, Buck, but he’s coming. Okay? He’s coming for you like he always will. Just stay with me ‘till he gets here, ok?”

Bucky closed his eyes. “Steve’s supposed to be here,” he mumbled, and then he was quiet.

“Bucky, come on. Stay awake. Look at me,” he said, and the cold air at his back slipped under his collar again. Steve should be here. This wouldn’t have happened if it were Steve and Bucky. They never got caught in shit like this. Clint shivered. “Bucky, wake up. Wake. Up.”

But Bucky didn’t wake, and his eyes stayed shut and his skin got even paler, but Clint heard the sound of a quinjet in the distance, so he wiped blood from Bucky’s head again and pressed a finger to his pulse point, concentrating on the weak beat under his skin. Steve’s shout in the distance startled him a moment later.

When the medics pulled Clint away to get to Bucky, the wind seemed to pick up. He wrapped his arms around himself as he was guided back to the quinjet by Natasha, who caught him when his leg decided that the ramp up to the jet was too much to handle. She pressed him into a jump seat and held his hand as a medic asked him questions and he watched a team work frantically over Bucky at the other end of the bay.  When Natasha pressed a blanket around his shoulders, he pulled it tight.   

Bucky was still in surgery and Steve had gestured for Clint to sit down next to him to wait, but he shook his head. “I’ll be back,” he said, and used the crutches they’d insisted on to get back to his room and dig through his drawers. He had to dig out a sweatshirt, and then he headed back to med bay and waited.

Steve tried to talk to him. “It was a shit situation, but you did the right things, Clint. You kept him safe.”

Clint didn’t answer. He was afraid his voice would be too shaky if he opened his mouth. He just huddled down further in his plastic chair. Nat brought coffee for everyone, but Clint let his get cold. He was distracted by memories of warm, soft lips on his, of the way Bucky’s smile sent heat down Clint’s spine, but now fear crept under his skin and cold seeped back into his bones. He pulled his sweatshirt tighter.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky climbed back to consciousness because his leg fucking hurt, and because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been knocked out cold and he needed to find out what the hell had happened to him. The last thing he remembered was hiking into the building with the suspected HYDRA ties, and Clint had been with him, joking about some old thing – he opened his eyes. “Clint?” he said, and tried to look. His head was wrapped, though, and a piercing headache slammed him into his mattress as he tried to turn his head.

Steve leaned over. “Don’t move too much, Buck. You’ve still got a pretty bad concussion and the docs don’t want you aggravating anything. Your leg was torn up good, too, and may take a few days to heal up proper. Just rest.”

Bucky frowned. “Where’s Clint? Is he okay?” The look on Steve’s face sent a thread of panic through Bucky’s chest. “Steve. Where is he?”

“He’s okay, Buck,” Steve said, looking like he just realized what Bucky was thinking. “He’s okay.”

The wave of relief at those words forced Bucky to close his eyes again, just to regain his balance.

“Buck, he’s fine.” Steve said, but doubt laced his voice, so Bucky snapped his eyes open again.

“Where is he?” Bucky said darkly.

“Ah, well. He did mess his knee up on the mission, so I hope he’s in his quarters with it propped up, but he kind of left without much warning. He was waiting on you to wake up, but the longer he stayed the jitterier he got. About an hour ago he stormed out of the room. Nat was here, too, and she said he couldn’t handle seeing you laid out. She went after him to make sure he’s okay.”  Steve paused and brushed his hand down Bucky’s arm. “We almost lost you today. It was close. And Clint had to keep you safe until we could get there, but you were in bad shape.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Clint was sometimes unsteady. He had been put through hell – Bucky had watched what footage they had of when he was under that fucking alien’s spell – and he’d come back with enough issues to rival a few of Bucky’s own. It made him unsteady, but he didn’t scare easy. Today must’ve been bad.

“I want to see him,” Bucky said, but as the words left his mouth a wave of exhaustion pushed him into the mattress again and splitting pain pulsed through his head. He clenched his eyes shut and breathed through his nose.

“Rest first. I’ll tell him you’re looking for him, but you need to rest, Buck.” Steve reached down and ran his hand through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky let out the breath he was holding.

Sleep dragged him down again.

He opened his eyes and Steve was there again, reading a dog-eared book and looking warm and comfy in a flannel shirt and faded jeans. “You goin’ out to the woods soon?” Bucky asked before trying to cough the sleep out of his voice.

Steve grinned and handed him a cup of water. “Nat just bought me a drawer full of these shirts and they’re the one of best things about this century so far. Get used to seein’ ‘em.”

“I had some in the 30s. They’re not new,” Bucky said, and had to blink away memories of him and Rebecca hanging laundry out to dry behind the house.

“These are softer. Brushed. It’s like. . . it’s like wearing a soft blanket.” Steve brushed his hand down his sleeve.

“Huh. Okay,” Bucky replied, smiling at the look on Steve’s face. Finding new things to actually like about modern day was a big deal for both of them. He looked around again. “Clint?”

Steve blew out a breath and shook his head. “You’ve been asleep again since last night. He hasn’t turned up.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “Can I get outta here?” he asked. He did feel a lot better than he did yesterday.

Steve sighed and set his book aside. “Yeah. Doc Sanders wants someone to stay with you for a day or so just to make sure that head injury doesn’t slow you down, but he said you could go. I’ve brought some clothes,” he said, pulling a pair of purple sweatpants and his favorite grey hoodie.

Twenty minutes later, and they were headed up to the apartment level of the tower.

“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight, just so we can do like Doc Sanders asked?”

Steve was leaning against the elevator wall, trying not to look like he was positioning himself to catch Bucky if he toppled over, and failing miserably.

Bucky stood, biting a fingernail, and considered where Clint might be and whether he could sneak away from Steve long enough to go find him. “Hey, do you mind if we stop on the common floor first? A cup of coffee from the fancy press thingy sounds real good right now,” he asked. Maybe it would be easy and Clint would be hanging around the TV watching cooking shows like he loved to do. (He never actually cooked anything, much to Bucky’s amusement.)

No luck. Bucky did get a cup of rich, smooth coffee out of the stop, but Clint wasn’t around. Neither was Natasha, which would have been the second best scenario. Instead, Bucky and Steve headed up to Steve’s place as planned, and the coffee helped Bucky make it through a shower and part of a meal. His plan to sneak away to find Clint got derailed by sleep, though. It was eight o’clock the next morning before he woke under a blanket Steve must’ve thrown over him the night before.

Bucky’s slept longer than he’d like and Clint was on his mind as his eyes shut, and Clint was on his mind again when his eyes opened those hours later. Worry slammed into him, and when he catalogued his body and the pain in his head had receded and the pain in his leg is tolerable, he rolled out of bed and stumbled into the shower with as much grace as his slight limp would allow.

Twenty minutes later he began his search. Jarvis wouldn’t give anything away except a begrudged and cryptic “Yes, he’s still on the premises” so Bucky started with what he knows. Clint was on crutches, so the rafters should be off-limits, although he didn’t fool himself that Clint will follow medical orders if he’s really unsteady, so he did a quick check of the hangars and gym ceiling. He’s not there. He’d heard rumors that Clint sometimes holed up in the vents, but he was counting on the crutches getting in the way of that, too.

He headed for the roof, next, but it was surprisingly empty.

He stopped in the common room for a quick drink to wash down a couple aspirin, and Natasha was sitting at the counter fixing two cups of hot tea. He leaned over the counter and into her space. “Help a guy out, Nat?”

She raised an eyebrow in response.

“Lemme take him the tea.”

She sighed and leaned into him. “I’m not exactly sure where he is, but there are two possibilities.”

“He’s not on the roof,” Bucky said.

She grinned. “Then I know where he is.”

The black door slid open to the enormous observation room with its looming brick fireplace in the far corner and glass walls looking out on the city. Bucky limped into the room with the cup of tea in his hands. He looked around and finally saw a lump of blankets on the floor in front of the plush, gray couch nearest the fireplace, as if the couch itself was too far away from the fire. Bucky set the tea on the edge of the fireplace and slid down to the floor.

“I brought you some tea,” he said, and he was met with silence. He looked at the flickering fire for a few minutes, then back at the blue and gold flannel blankets Clint had wrapped himself in. “Thought you weren’t getting’ cold as much,” he said.

“Wasn’t,” came a muffled reply.

Bucky decided to treat the answer as invitation, so he leaned over and pulled the blankets down enough to get a look at Clint. He was wearing two hoodies, and he was trembling. “Clint,” he said, and pulled Clint close. Clint resisted for a moment, and then melted against Bucky with a shuddering breath.

“You okay now?” Clint asked, staring out at the fire.

Bucky stroked his hand down Clint’s back. “Yeah. Leg still hurts, but the doc said it’d be just a few more days, most likely.” He paused and added, “I’m okay thanks to you.”

Clint turned his head against Bucky’s chest. “I’m really cold, Buck,” he whispered.  

Bucky held him for a moment. He’d never met anyone who could be as unsteady as Clint could sometimes and then be a rock every time Bucky needed him to be. He had never met someone who needed Bucky as much as he needed them. “Hey,” he said, pushing Clint back a bit. “I have an idea.”

Clint sat back and blinked. “What?”

“Here,” Bucky said pushing the blanket down to the floor. “Lemme….” He pulled at the bottom of both hoodies Clint had wedged himself into and met Clint’s eyes. “Trust me.”

Clint nodded, and let Bucky pull the sweatshirts off, leaving him bare-chested and trembling as Bucky threw the clothes to the side. He reached down and pulled his own shirt off and Clint’s eyes tracked every move. Bucky sat up on the couch and pulled Clint and the pile of blankets onto his lap. He positioned them so that he was leaning back on the arm of the couch and Clint was sitting between his legs with his back to Bucky, skin against skin. Bucky pulled the blankets up around them and pressed himself against Clint’s back, feeling the heat that Clint couldn’t feel.

He pressed a kiss to Clint’s shoulders and felt Clint shudder against him. “We’re both safe. It was close, but we’re safe. Close is kinda in the job, Clint. But we’re a couple fighters, right? I know I’ll fight damned hard to keep this, okay?” He rubbed his hands down Clint’s biceps all the way down to his wrists, and laced their fingers together.

Clint’s trembling had finally started to ease, and he dropped his head to his chest and took a deep breath and nodded. “When you were lying in all that blood and I was trying to help you, you were asking for Steve,” He said, and his voice had a frigid edge for a moment.

Bucky closed his eyes. Steve shouldn’t be something that comes between him and Clint. That’s a wedge that doesn’t exist, as far as Bucky is concerned, but he knows Clint and his issues may need an explanation. “There was fire, right?”

Clint nodded.

“So there was fire, and I was out of it,” he said, rubbing Clint’s arms again. “The last time I was hurt and out of it in a fire was when Steve dragged me out of Zola’s lab and the Red Skull tried to burn it down around us. I was out of it, but I had who I needed yesterday, Clint. You were lookin’ out for me. You kept me safe.” He paused and pressed another kiss to Clint’s shoulder. “You kept me warm.”

Clint closed his eyes and pressed Bucky’s hand to his chest. “Yeah,” he said, and blew out a breath. “Bucky,” he added, his voice laced with anguish, “I’m sorry for losing it again. I thought I had this beat.”

Bucky sat for a moment, thinking about everything Clint would have to beat in his life, thinking about all the stuff Bucky was still working to beat. He thought of Steve, and even Tony and Natasha. “Clint, we all got somethin’ to beat. I doubt any of us’ll really ever beat it. That’s why we fight. It’s why we keep fighting. We may never beat it, but we can sure as hell fight it.”

Clint leaned back against Bucky’s chest again and Bucky ran his hand through his messy blond hair.

After a few minutes of watching the fire burn, Clint looked up at the ceiling and said, “Here’s what I think,” and then he stopped.

Bucky pressed his hand to Clint’s chest, feeling the warmth radiating off Clint’s skin. “Yeah? What do you think?”

Clint laughed, the gentle laugh that Bucky only ever heard when it was just the two of them – the laugh of a private joke. “I think we take warmth where we can get it, and if that’s from a fire or from blankets, or from just having our shit together for a second, that’s okay. As long as we’re with each other. That’s what I think.”

Bucky laughed and leaned around for a kiss. “I like the way you think, Hawkeye.”


End file.
